


Hell Hath No Fury

by fitzsimmonsy



Category: Agents of S.H.I.E.L.D. (TV)
Genre: (Typical for Daredevil), Alternate Universe, Angst, Angst with a Happy Ending, Canon-Typical Violence, F/M, Jemma's POV
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2016-03-19
Updated: 2016-03-19
Packaged: 2018-05-27 16:42:33
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 2
Words: 7,679
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/6292156
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/fitzsimmonsy/pseuds/fitzsimmonsy
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Injured in a lab accident as a child, Jemma Simmons lost her sight, but was rewarded with extra-heightened senses. She spends most of her life hiding her gifts from the world, until her best friend and law partner Leopold Fitz is attacked by criminals and left to die. Distraught beyond measure when the police find nothing and Fitz is left brain damaged, Jemma Simmons becomes a masked vigilante in an effort to rid the city of crime and discover who is responsible for Fitz’s condition, while still maintaining her cover as a defense attorney. But, as she and Fitz take on the defense of a young woman named Daisy, Jemma discovers a much larger and more sinister influence taking over the city than she could have imagined.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Prologue

**Author's Note:**

  * For [adaughterofeve](https://archiveofourown.org/users/adaughterofeve/gifts).



> Written for adaughterofeve, who has been exceedingly patient with me as I get through this work. 
> 
> The prologue is the only chapter that is not from Jemma's POV.

The escalator was broken. Again. Nick sighed as he took the stairs of the N-Q-R stop two at a time. He pulled his jacket closer around him as a blast of crisp autumn air hit him, a stark contrast to the sticky heat of the NYC subway. He shuddered briefly, though less from the cold than from the unease that settled around him. The moment he’d left the train, he’d felt someone watching him.

He tried to ignore it. After all, the streets were empty. Even the cop that usually stood at station exit had left, which was, of course, to be expected. The surrounding area had been cleared of police for them as promised; they needed to move the cargo to the docks without interference. As he bustled down 49 th , the lights and glamor of Times Square faded behind him and glinting high-rise constructions came into view, separated by crumbling tenements. 

He still couldn’t shake that feeling of being watched. 

When he reached the corner of 48 th and 10 th , he rapped decisively on the door to the “construction area”:  _ three-two-three _ knocks. As he waited, he grinned smugly and glanced around; access to certain Union Allied construction sites had tripled business for them. After tonight’s shipment, he’d probably be able to retire. Nick bounced on the balls of his feet as he waited for Ron’s gap-toothed scowl to greet him when he opened up. But nothing happened.

He banged again, more urgently this time. On the last knock, large metal door scraped open, and Nick realized it wasn’t locked. His unease crescendoed into slight panic as he struggled to push the door in further. As the door opened, so did his view onto a most horrifying scene. His men laid scattered across the ground, unconscious. And the cage with the women, the cargo, was empty; the door swayed languidly. A frustrated yell escaped Nick and he kicked the nearest man to him. Ron, as he belatedly realized, rolled over from the impact. Nick felt his insides swoop into his throat as he surveyed Ron’s bloodied, mangled mess of a face. Despite this, Ron’s eyes were open and gazed upon Nick with an eerily calmness.

Dry heaving, Nick turned to leave, but found the doorway blocked. Standing in the frame was a small man, clad, mask pulled down over his face. Nick’s self preservation kicked in immediately and he took off across the construction site. He pulled down scaffolding, wooden palettes, anything he could get his hands on as he ran, to block the man in the mask from reaching him . Though the masked vigilante was shorter, slimmer than the stories had told, Ron’s face was a clear reminder to keep moving.

As he tried to round a corner a sharp pain exploded in his shin. He screamed, from pain and fear, as the leg buckled as he pitched forward onto the ground. As his cheek slammed into the cold cement, he saw the man in the mask leap effortlessly over to him.

Nick didn’t have the time to figure out how seriously hurt he was, so he picked himself up to charge at the masked man in retaliation, but found out too late that the ankle of the leg exploding in pain was broken, and he crumpled again.

The man said nothing, but instead wound his fingers tightly into Nick collar and dragged him up to face him.

To Nick’s extreme shock and chagrin, a  _ woman _ ’s voice spoke harshly to him. “The women you had locked up are at the precinct already. The police will be very interested to know who was the person in charge of selling them.”

Nick exhaled sharply as relief washed over him. The man in the mask was not only… the  _ woman _ in the mask, but she was also a huge amateur if she thought the  _ cops _ wouldn’t make sure he waltzed free.

“They’re with police officers not under your payroll,” the woman continued, as if reading his mind. “If you cooperate with my questions, you will end up at the precinct in one piece. If not…” she continued, her voice trailing off menacingly.

Nick’s mind raced. This was a woman - how could she have caused so much damage to all of his men? She was so small and unassuming up close. Maybe his men had just been pussies. There was a shard of glass in his leg, he now realized, and his ankle was broken. That’s the only way she came out on top. But, he could get out of this. All he had to do was clock her once and he could get away.

As he raised his arm to fight back, she blocked his strike easily.

“I will ask you this once,” she stated. “Who is the man who pays the police for you?”

Nick dropped his arm, staring at her face. Though the black mask was pulled over the majority of her face, he could still make out the curve of her lips and the soft line of her jaw.

He sneered. “You’re not getting anything out of me, you bit-”

“You’ll be sorry,” she told him plainly. He full on snorted at her then. What could she do? What could she even - her fist slammed into his jaw, scattering his thoughts. He grunted, but that wasn’t too bad. She wasn’t that strong.

Then, pain, pure, brilliant and intense pain, as he had never experienced shot through his jaw and through his skull and through his entire body. He howled desperately, pawing at the source of it radiating from his cheek.

“You fucking whore! You bitch! What did you do to me!?” he wailed, surprised that he was able to get out any words. The pain was only worsening. 

“A name and it stops,” he heard her repeat coldly over his shrieks.

God, anything to make it just stop hurting. He couldn’t bear it. “John Garrett!” He cried out. It wasn’t the name she really wanted, but it would be enough to lead her somewhere so she’d just leave him alone. 

As her fist connected with his face again, he slammed into merciful unconsciousness.


	2. Chapter One

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I know that the first chapter is pretty slow, and I’m sorry about that (set up is the bane of my existence!), but I promise you that the plot will pick up really soon! There’s a lot of stuff to unravel here, and it’s all coming.

Jemma perched on the roof, tilting her head to the side, listening to the sirens below her. When she was certain that the unconscious Nick, and the rest of the human traffickers, had been loaded into the police van, she slowly backed away from the edge, sliding down to sit on the roof instead.

She leaned her head against the cold railing, pulling the black mask off her face. She stared forward into the black as she very carefully pulled off the thick, spiked gloves she wore and dug into her pockets. Pulling out a tiny pot, she unscrewed the lid and dipped her fingers into the salve inside. Her breath hitched as she applied it gingerly to the cut in her side, which had soaked the surrounding fabric in blood.

Hiking up her knees, she rested her elbows on them, her head still leaned back as she tried to regulate her breathing.

_ Inhale. Hold. Exhale.  _

But her breath raced on despite her efforts, and the lack of focus allowed all her senses to flood her at once. She couldn’t see, but everything other sense of hers made up for it… and now overwhelmed her. The loud throbbing of her healing wound, the taste of metal from the seeping blood, the salty aroma of the Chinese takeout place in the lobby of the building, the hacking cough of the smoker on the 3rd floor, the whir of the helicopter above… them and thousands of others competed for her attention. She cricked her neck and refocused on her breathing, until a very close buzzing noise threw her off.

With a hiss she jumped to her feet, ready to take on the attacker. After a brief moment of confusion, she realized it was just her phone vibrating in her pocket. Jemma waited for a few moments for the vibrations to spell out the name of the caller. Her best friend, Fitz, had a knack for technology, and liked to create devices or update hers to make it easier for her to get around without her sight. A phone that vibrated in Morse Code was certainly one of those things. 

When she understood that it was him calling, she cleared her throat, then picked up.

“Hey Fitz,” she said, trying to sound groggy so that her whispering would make sense.

“I’m so sorry to wake you, Simmons.” Her friend’s voice wasn’t as apologetic as she’d like for a call in the middle of the night.

“What is it?” she pressed, trying to both concentrate on the phone call and sense any movements on the roof.

“Mack, he uh…” Fitz paused and though she wasn’t near him, she knew that his heart rate was increasing, as he gesticulated with his hand wildly, grasping for the word that was on the tip of his tongue. She tried to ignore the sinking feeling in her stomach. 

“He called you?” she suggested lightly.

“Yes. Yeah, he called. Interesting case was brought in. Homicide. Female suspect found at the scene. Hasn’t been charged yet.”

She stretched as he spoke, wincing slightly as her movement tugged at the gash in her side. An involuntary grunt escaped her lips.

“What-what was that? Are you ok? Did you fall again?”

“I’m fine,” she lied. “And really? Mack told you? I thought he was against throwing bones to defense attorneys? With police being our mortal enemies and all.”

“I bribed his mom with cigars.”

“Fitz!” Jemma scolded as she began making her way off the roof. “Stop giving Bess cigars.”

“Well, excuse me, Simmons. It’s a free country after all. She can smoke her cancer sticks if she wants to.”

A smile pulled her lips wide. “Oh Fitz.”

He yawned loudly, and Jemma took the time to jump to the next roof over. “So do you want me to come to the precinct with you?” she asked, a little breathlessly.

“Oh no,” he muttered. “I’ve already interviewed her. It’s three in the bloody morning, I figured I’d let you sleep.”

Jemma pursed her lips for a moment, but Fitz quickly explained before she could reply.

“I know I’m waking you up  _ now _ , I just want to come over first thing in the morning. I promised her we’d take her case, but all evidence is pointing to her guilt and I thought you could help me sort it out.”

She was confused. This didn’t sound like Fitz at all. He was normally the one who tended to take the facts at face value. “Why do you think she’s not guilty?”

“Just a feeling, Simmons. If we go over the works and you think she’s guilty, we won’t take the case. I just… I really think she’s not.”

Jemma swallowed hard. “Alright Fitz. We’ll look over it. Just, please do come early? While 11:45 is technically still morning time, it’s by no means first thing.”

Fitz grunted back. “Alright, alright Simmons. See you at 11:30.” It was if he could hear her eye-roll, because he followed up immediately. “I’m kidding. I’ll be there at 9. Try to get some rest.”

Jemma paused, holding the phone in her hand for a moment as she smiled down at it. Whenever Fitz joked around with her now, she couldn’t help but take the moment to appreciate it. Since the attack, it was a rare pleasantry. She let out a long sigh, before she carefully pocketed her phone. 

She scrunched her nose as the smell of the homeless man down the block, dubbed “Racist Rick” for his racially tinged outbursts, wafted up. She was on 48th and 11th. It was another ten blocks to her apartment, where she needed to bandage her wound, and get to sleep. She’d maybe get four or five hours of sleep before Fitz came over, if she hurried.

— —

Harsh knocking at the door woke her, and she scrambled out of bed towards it. She was surprised to see a more complete image of her apartment in front of her. Though she couldn’t see, all her senses together allowed her mind to put together a washed out composite image of her surroundings. But right now, it was clearer and sharper than it ever had been. She managed a smile, before the knocking reminded her to open up to the door.

“Police! Open up Ms. Simmons.” 

Gulping, she sped towards the door to find herself face to face with Mack, Fitz’s cop friend.

“Ms. Simmons,” he began slowly. “I’m sorry to give you the news, but… Fitz has been attacked again. He’s dead.”

“What?!” she cried. “But he just… how?”

“Ligature strangulation. Same as the first time. Perp just decided to finish him off this time.”

Her stomach felt like it has dropped out of her body in her grief.

“But you knew that, didn’t you?” Mack suddenly asked, harshly.

“What?” She barely got out in her shock.

“You can hear. You can hear things from blocks away if you want to. You must have heard him, dying, choking, and done nothing.”

“No, that’s not…”

“And that’s what you’ve done for everyone since your accident, right? Turned away. Ignored the noise?” His voice was overpoweringly loud, as was the accusatory anger that came off of him in waves. She knew it was her fault but to hear it screamed at her was somehow even more painful.

“It’s not -”

“It’s your fault he’s dead! It’s your fault they’re all dead!” Mack yelled and she suddenly found herself in the darkness again, drenched in sweat, gasping for air as she sat up in bed.

She let out a heavy sigh, before dropping her hand on the nightstand next to her, pressing the button on her alarm.

“6:47am,” her clock told her.

So much for sleep.

— —

When Fitz knocked on her door at 9:20, she’d already set out two cups of tea, three sugars and creamer for him, a drizzle of honey and lemon for her. She bustled to the door, excited to see him, but apparently the sight of her shocked him so much that she could hear his entire expression change.

“Jemma,” he breathed out. “D-d-did you.. uh, fall again? Are you alright?” She felt the callouses of his fingertips as he ran them down the curve of her jaw, a shudder running down her spine as she leaned slightly into his touch. “Your face looks like someone punched you.”

“Oh yes, I am completely alright,” she said, chuckling a little too stiffly as she tucked a strand of hair behind her ear. She could feel his hand trembling as his heart raced further on. “That must have been when I tripped last night taking out the trash. I fell to the ground and thought that I had gotten away without any marks.. How shameful!”

“No, no, not at all,” he whispered. He must have realized that he was still holding her face because he quickly dropped his hand a moment later. She tried to ignore the tinge of feeling when he did.

His heart still hammered, though his tone was light. “You really should get a dog, Jemma. Or even a little monkey. They’re smarter. A trained monkey could definitely-“

“Oh Fitz. First dogs, now monkeys? I am not going to get a service animal to fulfill your desire to get a pet,” she teased. 

“This is totally legitimate!” He protested. “I just… I don’t want you getting hurt all the time. You’ve been falling an awful lot lately,” he added more gently.

“I’m fine. I promise.” Jemma was glad that nobody could hear  _ her  _ heartbeat because it was rattling her chest, the din ringing in her ears. “Tell me about this case,” she redirected instead. “Good enough to be our first one?”

“I hope so,” Fitz said as he made his way into the kitchen, grabbing his mug and settling down on the couch. He placed his files on the table, along with a brown paper bag that upon opening, released the delicious smell of bagels into the air.

“I got your favorite on my way over here.”

He was lying. Her favorite bagel place was blocks out of his way.

“Thanks Fitz,” she told him anyway as she plopped onto the couch beside him. It took every ounce of self control not to cry out in pain, as the movement tugged at the wound from last night.

“So,” he began. “Twenty six year old female - a Ms. Daisy Johnson - was found at the scene next to the body of a M-m-m... “ He paused after his stutter, his hand shaking violently as he searched for the word on the tip of his tongue, that he knew, but just couldn’t remember. 

“It’s ok,” she soothed. “Take your time.” 

She didn’t know what else to say, even though she could tell that her assurances only made him angrier and more frustrated; the smell of salty sweat breaking on his forehead instantly clouded the air and she tried not to scrunch her nose again.

But she couldn’t help when her throat clogged up with grief and helplessness. Fitz’s condition took a much greater toll on her than any of the things she had done the night before. She had no solution to this tension. Fury harrowed her less than love it seemed. 

It was not a comforting thing to think of herself.

Finally, he continued. “Mr. Mike Peterson. He was dead at the scene with her. She was covered in his blood, no defensive wounds, with the knife that killed him.”

“Why would we take this?” Jemma asked. “Seems pretty straightforward.”

“Because I don’t think she did it,” Fitz insisted.

Jemma chewed her lip for a moment. “Why though, Fitz?”

“She hasn’t been charged yet. This is a good arrest, and th-th-they haven’t done anything about it.”

“It is the weekend,” she reminded him. 

“But we haven’t heard anything about it. There’s not a peep in the news. Something doesn’t feel right.”

Jemma brightened. Perhaps this was another lead.

“Alright, Fitz. Let’s take the case.”

“One problem though, Simmons. She… doesn’t have any money.”

Jemma groaned. “Seriously? You’re the one who demanded that we take some big buck clients.” She gestured wildly with her hands.

“Well, you’re the one who dragged me into this firm in the first place...where we’re making no money!”

“I did not drag you anywhere!” She retorted. Though, a part of her knew this was true. After Fitz’s attack, the big firm that had offered him a spot was going to rescind it. Even if Fitz was as brilliant as they get, they weren’t going to hire someone with his… problem. Starting this firm was the only way she knew to protect him.

“You said, and I quote “Oh Fitz, this is the most perfect opportunity to start our own firm. We’d be fools to pass this one up. After all, we’ll be completely in control of our clients-”

Genuine indignation filled her this time. “I hate it when you use that voice, and that’s not even how I sound!” 

“Yeah… yeah it is,” he chuckled and nudged her to remind her he was joking.

The argument died on her tongue, his laughter seemingly wafting through the air, like she could grab it and hold it, keep it somewhere safe. They hadn't had a morning like this in a long time, where Fitz got most of his words out, where he was joking and comfortable with her again. Any hint of happiness these days evaporated under the pressure of tension. She wouldn’t let the opportunity pass up.

“Alright, alright,” she conceded, making a show of exasperated breath to prolong the silliness. “Let’s discuss strategy now, shall we? I suspect Alexandra Cabot over at the DA’s office will take this one, and she’s fairly ruthless-”

“And uses arguments based much more on rhetoric and emotions, rather than fact,” Fitz finished.

And, with that, the morning melted away into just what she had wanted. A comfortable, easy conversation where, for at least a little while, it felt like nothing had happened to her best friend in the world. Where some horrible crime hadn’t brought to the forefront of her mind all the things she’d been trying to shut out for years. All the voices in the city, crying out for help.

Then, Fitz’s phone blaring shattered their morning. She tried not to listen in when he spoke, but she wished she had because once he was done he could barely speak, the words getting stuck repeatedly this time. She could feel him trembling with helplessness and that fury, the one that had bloomed in her chest when she continued to punch the head trafficker the night before, took over her again.

She was on the verge of tears, wondering what had caused his sudden regression, when he finally explained that Daisy had almost been strangled in police custody.

Jemma wished she knew what to say to him other than the lame words she kept repeating. Seemed like all her trauma recovery was for naught. “I’m sorry” was all she could muster.

Fitz had gotten himself together by the time they reached the station though, for which she was grateful. She knew this wouldn’t be an easy talk with the detectives.

— —

“Detectives,” Jemma began, trying to keep her tone neutral. “I believe the task ahead of you is very simple. Get the ADA to release Miss Johnson immediately and we will recommend to our lovely media-friendly client that she not talk to every news agency that’s going to want her story about how she was almost killed in your custody.”

She wished that she could truly see the shit-eating grin that she knew was plastered on Fitz’s face as he followed up with, “And I'll agree not to make cooing noises for the rest of this meeting when I think of the civil suit that we have on our hands.”

Detective Sitwell, the one who smelled like cigarettes, replied angrily, “How do you know they're not charging her?”

Jemma folded her hands neatly on the table. And now she’d upped her tone to saccharine. “Besides the fact that you were required to do so four hours ago if you were going do it at all?”

“Oh, and I have a follow up question,” Fitz sneered. “About how the security cameras in Miss Johnson's detention area went on the fritz right before the assault.”

“Oh yes,” Jemma continued. “We’d like to speak to the police officer in question about that, I believe it’s Mr. Farnum?”

“Get in line. He'll be arraigned in the morning.” The other detective picked at his nails instead of looking at them.

Jemma leaned over the table, no longer willing to be sweet with the rude detectives. “Get my client released. Don't make me ask again.”

Detective Sitwell titled his head to whisper to his partner, and it took Jemma every effort not to listen in.

He quickly turned back to her, and she didn’t need her heightened senses to feel his anger rolling off in waves. “I'll call the ADA. But you take that tone with me again, I don't care if you're blind, or a girl, I will make sure you never do it again.”

As the two detectives exited the room, Sitwell didn’t bother to hide his additional remarks on how exactly her would keep her quiet.

The intensity of Fitz’s reaction to his words overwhelmed her senses – the sound of blood gushing, the sharp inhale, the crackling of his knuckles as he squeezed his fists into tight balls - so she barely was able to catch his arm before he flew at the detectives.

“Fitz, Fitz,” she stopped him before he could get them into trouble. 

Fitz whirled around to face her, his chest heaving in his ire. “What the hell is wrong with him?”

“It’s alright.” He didn’t deserve to have this stress on him. Daisy’s predicament was already a painful reminder of what he’d gone through. He didn’t need more. “I think it’s more important that we focus on how this whole situation… doesn't make any sense. The ADA had everything they needed. Why didn’t they charge her?” She paused dramatically. “Unless they had  _ too _ much.”

“Wait..what? What am I missing?” She was glad to feel his anger subsiding. 

Jemma figured she should sound less excited about the conspiracy, but this was a potential new lead into the organized crime that plagued this city and had hurt Fitz. “Maybe someone else was in Mike’s apartment that night. Maybe they have evidence.”

Fitz shook his head. “They'd have to turn that over, Jemma. Right?”

“Only if she were charged. She hangs herself in her cell, this all goes away.” Jemma bit her tongue the moment she said it, but although she could feel Fitz’s fear, he wasn’t showing it.

“Oh fffff- Let's get her some clothes and get the hell out of here.”

— —

They took their new client Daisy to the office they’re recently purchased together. It was an uncomfortable walk for Jemma. Though Fitz held her arm as usual to help lead her, he spent the entire time engaged in conversation with Daisy. 

Which wasn’t surprising. Daisy was conventionally attractive and while she was clearly traumatized, her demeanor was still easy-going; she shielded her vulnerability with humor, keeping polite banter with Fitz for the most part. Most importantly, she hadn’t known Fitz before the attack. Jemma could feel the tension fall off Fitz whenever he interacted with someone who hadn’t known him before. She resented that she couldn’t do that for him.

Despite this, once they arrived, Jemma made sure to make her new client feel comfortable, her hand rubbing soothing circles on Daisy’s back, as Fitz made some tea for her..

“I couldn’t find any any milk. I hope it's okay.” Daisy took the cup from him graciously, and Fitz shifted from foot to foot, twisting his hands in front of him, blush rising in his face. Jemma wasn’t sure exactly what he was doing, until she realized that he was feeling awkward. She wasn’t sure why it irritated and frustrated her, but it took every effort to push those emotions down.

“We have tea at the office now?” she asked, her voice slightly squeaky.

Fitz grinned. “I stole it from the financial office next door.”

Daisy laughed. “Oh yeah? How’d you manage that?”

“They’re not paying attention to their tea when their fire alarms are going off.”

Daisy’s eyes widened. “You set off their fire alarms?! Isn’t that illegal? You have to show me-“

“I take it you’re feeling better, Daisy?” Jemma asked a little more pointedly than she wanted to.

“Yes, better. Thanks for getting me out.”

“Don't thank us just yet,” Jemma’s voice was somber. “Just because they released you doesn't mean they won't eventually bring charges.”

“Yeah. That-that means you should only speak to the two of us about what happened, anyway,” Fitz agreed.

Daisy shrugged. “It’s not like I have a lot of people to chat with anyway.”

“Do you have somewhere you can stay tonight?” Fitz asked.

“I... I live in my van and its.. .still parked where it was. I never move it. Finding a parking space in this city is crazy.”

Fitz shook his head violently, “You can't go back there.”

Jemma made a noise of agreement . “Daisy, our immediate priority is to keep you safe. And in order to do that, we're gonna need to have an honest discussion, please. I know that you spoke with my partner Fitz last night, but as I understand you haven’t told him everything. We need you to be frank.”

Daisy shrugged again.

“She gave a vague shrug.” Fitz told Jemma. She smiled in appreciation. Recently those little gestures of his made her almost tingle with happiness. She shook it off though - they had a very serious conversation coming up. 

She turned back to Daisy. “Do you know who's trying to kill you?”

“No.”

“Do you know why they're trying to kill you?” Jemma persisted.

After a long pause, Daisy breathed out, “Yes.”

“I’ll… I’ll go get the recorder.” Fitz shuffled off to the next room and returned quickly with the device, setting it down in front of Daisy.

Jemma could feel how warmly Fitz was smiling at Daisy and it made her insides twist, but she placed a comforting hand on Daisy’s anyway, urging her to speak.

“I, uh, I worked in the financial department at Union Allied. They're the ones overseeing the bulk of the government contracts for the West Side reconstruction.”

“I've seen their signs all over Hell's Kitchen!” Fitz quickly noted. 

“Well yeah, so you guys know that the last two years have transformed the business. There's new owners, new grants, new contracts.”

“Well, of course. The world watched half of New York get destroyed. That's a lot of sympathy,” Jemma agreed.

Daisy nodded emphatically. “And Union Allied benefited from every dollar of it. That’s why I was so mad about it, you know? I knew people who died because of the Chitauri invasion. Like, that shit was brutal and they’re making bank. So I quit. I’d been with the Rising Tide for awhile, and I wanted to expose their corrupt capitalist ways.

“So…. I hacked the email of the guy I used to work for. The chief accountant - Garrett-”

Jemma perked immediately at the words. “Garrett?!” She realized instantly that her outburst was shocking, not only to Daisy, but to Fitz as well. But… that was the name of the man that the trafficker had given her the night before!

“Sorry,” she followed up, tucking her hair behind her ears to prevent them from seeing that her hands were trembling. “I… I know someone named Garrett. Do you mind stating the man’s full name for the record?” 

“Uh yeah, it’s John Garrett.” 

Jemma nodded, moving her hands under the table so she could knead them in her impatience. This was a lead. This was a definite lead. “Sorry Daisy, please continue.”

“So. um, where was I? Garrett. Yeah. I hacked his email. I figured maybe I could get some bro-y shit about how they were using company dollars to like… go on golf trips. But, the only email in his inbox contained a file called ‘Pension Master.’”

“I'm guessing it wasn't the pension fund?” Fitz asked.

“It’s not that… it was like… it was the size of the pension fund that was insane. I couldn't believe the numbers. But it was still being designated as company pension. And it was constantly adjusted. Money coming in and money going out.”

Jemma rolled one of her hands into a fist. “Going where?”

“I don't know.” Daisy threw up her hands. “It was coded routing numbers – I didn’t get a chance to look them up yet, but we are talking a lot of money.”

“What did you do with the file?” Fitz eyed her suspiciously.

“I didn’t do anything with it. I wanted to talk to Mike about it, because he worked in legal. I didn't know him very well, but he was the only one who gave me his email when I left. He was really nice, so I asked him to meet me after he was done with work. We met at the Three Roads bar, on 49th Street. I told Fitz all this.” She gestured towards. “We had a few drinks. We hadn’t even gotten to talking about the file and the next thing that I remember is waking up on the floor of his apartment covered in blood. His blood.” She grasped the table all of sudden, leaning towards them. “No, I'm not stupid. I know how that sounds. But I am telling you we met at the bar. We had a few drinks. And I don't know what happened after that. It wasn't me.”

Jemma frowned in sympathy. “We know that. Don’t worry. We just want to find out more so we can figure out who did this.”

Daisy nodded and continued, “I don't know how they knew. They must have had people watching me. They must have people everywhere. All I did was ask him for a drink. I hadn’t even started to tell him about what I found and things got blurry. Like I was drugged.” Daisy gasped, drawing her hand to her mouth in shock as tears began to roll down her cheeks. “They killed him because of me. And he had a family. A little boy.” She stood up suddenly, looking wildly to each side of her. “I need to get out of here. I'm sorry.” She bolted for the door.

Fitz scrambled to step in front of her, blocking her exit. “Daisy.. we.. we can't advise that.”

Daisy shook her head frantically. “No, you don't understand. Either you're with them or you're not. And if you're with them, then I'm dead already. And if you are not…then I cannot have anybody else die because of me.” She began to sob in earnest.

“Daisy, we’ll be fine.”

Daisy paused for a moment to look over at Jemma, then at Fitz, and proceeded to cry harder than before. “No, you can't. Not from them.” Daisy wept.

Fitz scrunched his nose in a moment of offense. “We most certainly can.” But his tone instantly softened, as Daisy leaned her face into his chest.

“You can’t go home, Daisy.”

“Please, just…please let me go,” Daisy continued.

Jemma, despite her trembling at the intimate moment between Daisy and Fitz, spoke normally. “Daisy, you can stay at my apartment. Just for tonight, until we figure something out.”

“Yeah, Jemma’s got a really nice place,” Fitz soothed. “It’ll be safe there.”

Jemma felt Fitz begin to wink at her, but quickly turn his head away in embarrassment when he realized his blunder. It still made her smile.

— —

Fitz walked with them Jemma’s apartment. As they said their goodbyes and he walked off into the night, Jemma tightened her grip on her walking cane. Daisy’s ordeal had been difficult on the both of them. Every time he walked away, she couldn’t help but remember that call from the hospital telling her he was in a coma. It was hard, feeling him go; today was worse than most.

She shook her head to try and cast her fear aside, refocusing on Daisy - someone else who needed her help. This city was full of Daisy’s and Fitz’s, hurt and traumatized by whoever was masterminding organized crime’s chokehold on the city.

As they mounted the stairs in silence, she tried to make Daisy feel more welcome. “I have plenty of food in the fridge, if you’d like to have some dinner.  Lots of gluten free biscuits as snacks. But, if you’re craving it, there’s also a Thai place around the corner,” she added kindly.

“I…uh, I think I’m ok. Thanks, Simmons. Don’t really have an appetite after today.”

Jemma nodded as she unlocked her apartment. She made some extra effort to fiddle with the keys so as not to arouse Daisy’s suspicion.

“Oh wow, it’s really dark in here,” Daisy blurted out, then quickly realized her faux-pas. “Oh well, that’s... that’s not a big deal for you, is it?”

Jemma smiled at the bluntness. “No, it’s not.”

Daisy twisted her hands, standing in the living room. “Look, I really appreciate you and Fitz being so nice to me. I was so shocked when he showed up. I know..I know my story is hard to believe…”

“I believe you, Daisy,” Jemma reminded her.

“Ha, yeah, thanks.”

Jemma could feel Daisy’s gaze upon her. “You want to ask about my blindness, don’t you?”

Heat bloomed in Daisy’s cheeks. “Ugh, yeah, sorry. Is that weird?”

Jemma laughed and shook her head. “It’s the first thing people usually want to know.”

“Did you know Fitz before or..?”

Fitz? That was an odd place to start. “Oh no, Fitz and I met in law school.”

Daisy nodded. “Oh ok, but yeah… how did it happen?”

Jemma shrugged. “It was a lab accident.”

“Oh shit. Like science?”

“Yes.” She nodded. “Biology was my calling as a child, and I was well on my way to completing a college degree. I’d been invited to help on a project, but the lab director wouldn’t take me seriously. I was young and female, you see.”

“Ugh. Dudes suck. That’s the worst.” 

“And, unfortunately, he ignored a direct suggestion of mine which resulted in the explosion of hazardous materials. I helped him survive... but I was blinded in the process.”

“Oh wait a minute.” Realization spread across Daisy’s face. “I  _ have _ heard of you! That was in the papers when I was a kid. ‘Science prodigy saves five, left blind.’ Oh man. Holy shit.”

Jemma grinned, despite herself.

“You know that’s like… a superhero origin story, right?” Daisy gesticulated animatedly as she continued. “You didn’t get super soldier powers or something, did you? Or turn into a big green rage monster when you get mad? You could fight crime by day as a lawyer, and as an Avenger at night.”

Jemma gulped and laughed nervously. “Oh. Oh dear...I don’t believe I was that lucky.”

“Sorry, sorry, sorry – I’m being such a jerk.” Daisy hung her head for a moment. “I didn’t mean to, like, trivialize your situation. I just... I really like the Avengers.”

“Its alright, Daisy.” Jemma paused. “Do you mind if I ask you a question in return?”

Daisy didn’t reply, so Jemma followed up to make sure Daisy had no lasting suspicions about her blindness. “You just nodded, right?”

“Oh crap, yeah I did. You can ask.”

“So, here’s a bit of the puzzle I don’t quite understand. You have the pension master file. You’re the hacktivist who can spread it all over the internet, right? And, I’m the man at Union Allied who doesn’t want that to happen. So.. why don’t I just kill you?”

“But, uh, they tried to?”

Jemma gritted her teeth, frustrated at Daisy’s fake obtuseness. “Yes. But that was the second time. The first time, they left you alive. Why? What were they trying to do? Frame you?” Jemma realized she was speaking a bit quickly, so she tried to slow down and not show her excitement. While any lead inched her closer to discovering more, Daisy was a victim.

She continued. “Now, the second time, maybe that's a change of plan. Perhaps something didn’t go their way that the crime scene – whoever framed you left evidence. And then, a lawyer shows up out of the blue before they can get to you. So they think – what if Daisy hangs herself in her cell? Then this thing go away.” Her voice trembled in anticipation as the plot that Daisy was embroiled in finally came together. “But the first time, they didn’t try to kill you. They're trying to discredit you. They're trying to scare you. And the only reason that they would do that is if you have something that they want. Do you have more files than the just the Pension Master, Daisy?”

Daisy’s heartbeat was so fast that Jemma became briefly worried for her health.

But, she shook her head. “Uh no. The Pension Master was the only file I found on my old boss’ email. I’m not really up there with the big league hackers. I couldn’t find more.”

Jemma tried hard not to frown. “Ah, well, it was just a thought.”

— —

Jemma had been asleep a couple hours when Daisy’s sudden jerk in the next room over snapped her to alertness. Jemma wasn’t particularly surprised when in a few minutes, she heard the sound of her apartment door closing. She just wished Daisy wasn’t so… illogical about this. Making a move to retrieve whatever files she had so soon after her attack was not a smart move.

But, she couldn’t let them hurt someone else. She desperately wished that she could have been there, in the mask, when Fitz was attacked; but she could at least be there for Daisy.

After swiveling her legs over the side of the bed and forcing herself to stand, she strode to her closet. Before putting on her “street clothes” -  as she liked to refer to the black outfit she wore when turning into the masked vigilante - she ran her fingers down a sweater Fitz had left in her apartment months ago, before the accident. It calmed her to touch the thick knit, to remind herself why she put on the mask.

The gear was easy to put on, but the gloves were the trickiest. Careful not to touch a single spike on the knuckles, she pulled them on. She rattled the right gloves – there was still enough dendrotoxin in each of the spikes to help her deal with more attackers The left one with the antidote… that was fuller. She’d still definitely need to refill them after tonight though.

Instead of exiting the building, she made her way to the roof. Perching on the corner, she focused on finding Daisy. It was surprisingly easy – her van was parked only a few blocks over...and someone was already in the process of attacking her. Panicking, Jemma jumped to the adjacent roof, moving as fast as she could.

She was relieved to find Daisy alive and resisting her assailant, though he was quickly gaining the upper hand. Not sure how to interrupt him and not get Daisy hurt more, Jemma whistled at him. He whirled around. 

It was almost as if he was knew of her, because he was quick to drop Daisy from the chokehold he had her in and turn his attention entirely to Jemma. There was a click, and an odd slicing noise cut through the air. He had a knife. The wound in her side pulsed, reminding her that she needed to be particularly careful about those. 

Luckily, all she needed to do was hit him in the face, and he’d be reduced to a howling mess. Her poison was extremely effective. With a sigh, she launched herself at him, hoping to use her speed against his bulk. But he was much faster than his physique suggested, and he caught her arm. She spun to prevent a break as he pulled it, but that only allowed him to slam her head into the van door. Twisting out of his grasp, she staggered as she put space between them. The pain disoriented her, but not enough to be unable to sidestep his attempt to stab her. 

She knew logically that they must have only fought for the next ten minutes or so, but to her it was an agonizing eternity. She could feel her capillaries burst into bruises every time he was able to land a blow, and she only barely avoided the slice of his knife. He tired too, though, and that made the difference between them. No matter how tired she got, she never backed down.

As his swings became laden with exhaustion, she ducked under his arm and delivered a well-placed uppercut to his chin. Within a moment, he was writing on the ground in front of her, wailing in pain.

As Jemma tried to steady her breath, she became aware of Daisy gaping at her. 

“Oh my god. You’re... the Man in the Mask! Or woman...but- I- holy shit you’re real. You actually exist. I- I cannot believe you came to help me.”

Jemma said nothing, knowing Daisy would be smart enough to figure out her voice. She was terrible at faking voices. She held out her hand, tilting her face so she knew her eyes were angled towards the USB in Daisy’s hand.

“This?” Daisy asked, and Jemma nodded.

“You…you can’t take this to the police. They tried to kill me.”

Jemma shook her head and extended her hand again.

Daisy looked at her dubiously, but then shoved the USB in Jemma’s hand. “Please… please make sure the right people find this? Ok?”

— —

After the women had duct taped Daisy’s attacker, Jemma proceeded to drag his body to the steps of the NY Bulletin. She addressed her gift to Ms. Bobbi Morse - if anyone would have the guts to write about this, she would. Morse had never backed down from exposing corruption, and Jemma didn’t expect her to this time either.

She turned to return to her apartment, when the scream of a little girl rang through the night. Jemma paused as she heard the scream, which was quickly followed by the slam of car doors and squealing tires and the sobs of what seemed to be a distraught mother.

It wasn’t even a debate anymore. Jemma wasted no time in pursuing the car who’d absconded with the kidnapped girl.

— —

As she later dragged her body along the pavement, she regretted her decision. It had been such an obvious trap, and she’d gone for it.

Hoping to avoid the men she knew were pursuing her, she climbed into the dumpster of a building nearby. She dry heaved at the stench, but kept it down. She didn’t know if she’d even make it through the night. Even if they didn’t find her. Her lung was partially collapsed, and her breathing was irregular and shallow, which strained her fractured ribs. The wound in her side had been torn open, along with fresh new ones that were bleeding out at an alarming rate. 

As consciousness slipped from her slowly, she thought about how she’d always heard that people said their lives flashed before their eyes as she died. Why then, could she only think about how if she died, then Fitz would discover that she had been lying to him this entire time? 

Her head was spinning now and she was barely there, trying desperately to hold on until someone or something was pulling her from the dumpster and she couldn’t fight back and everything went completely silent.

**Author's Note:**

> A big thank you to ruthedotcom and ardentaislinn for their beta skills!


End file.
